


Fur Girls

by gala_apples



Category: Borderland Series - Terri Windling
Genre: F/F, Furry, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clare hoped she'd find a community in Bordertown. She did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fur Girls

One could say Bordertown was all about fashion. Well, besides the whole human elvin halfie thing, which doesn’t count to Clare. She’s never been the type to base her identity on race. So fashion. Except one could say it’s all about music, or dance, or art, or cooking, or half a dozen other things. But to Clare it’ll always be fashion. The idea of being able to wear what she wanted was part of what drew her.

Kellie, her ex, told her she didn’t need to go. Just because the gates were finally open after thirteen years didn’t mean everyone and their cousin had to move in. Especially considering the prevailing theory of why the path shut down; that Bordertown got too full. Clare knew it was stupid to say she was only one person, the city could handle her. If every person thought they were the one person the city would overflow once again. Too many exceptions and there’s no more rule left. But she said it, and Kellie called her on it, and then they had their last fight. Kellie told her she was ignorant as she walked out. It was a death knell of their relationship. There was no word more bile filled in Kellie’s vocabulary than someone who insisted on being _ignorant_. It was why after the initial shock she hadn’t had a problem with Clare’s fetish.

Kellie had been Clare’s last reason for staying. With that taken away, the only thing to do was pack up the things EscapeToBordertown.org’s F.A.Q. told her to. Mostly witty shirts and coffee and chocolate, and as many sci fi novels as her backpack could fit. Each extra pound of weight she carried would pay off as another chit towards rent in a better area. Or if she went full on slumming -which was apparently near impossible, everything not in gang territory was shit or already claimed- it would be trade for other comforts, like food. 

Clare left the door unlocked when she left. If she made it what others chose to do in her house in her absence wouldn’t be her concern. If the town refused her, having all her things stolen would be her punishment for being so damn stupid. She started walking down the sidewalk, going nowhere in particular, as suggested. Her feet got blisters on top of blisters, but she made it.

Living off Aube street, Clare’s got a secret, one she can never tell her gang. Not that they’re a real gang. Not like Bloods or Pack or Rune Lords. If anything the Furs are more like the stories you hear about what Castle Pup used to be, or the Bards now. A group of friends banded together, spending time together. Maybe twenty girls and women live in their house. It’s a decent house, enough rooms that they only have to sleep a few to a room. Thank god it was built before the stupid open concept craze. The only thing that makes it odd, fitting for Bordertown, is that the ivy grows on the interior walls, not the exterior. No amount of tearing it or burning it will bring it down, so they’ve all learned not to bother.

But yes, a secret. Her suit is hers. Not hers in the way that people have belongings in Bordertown, scavenged and cobbled together. Actually hers. She brought it with her from the world. It was the one thing she brought that she didn’t have to. Except, of course she _had to_. Because the thing is, Clare wants a community. There was no one in RL -Kellie’s tolerance didn’t count- and the internet just hadn’t cut it. She’s not sure how it was decided, but it’s like a law; furries get the most shit of anyone online. It’s like being a wigger in RL. Every person regardless of their own personal status feels free to talk shit. At least she’s trying to build a culture, not appropriating one.

At home -no, at her ex-home- Clare’d get shit for leaving the house dressed the way she felt most comfortable. Living in one side of a duplex, her parents on the other, they had the annoying habit of spying. Decked out in her beautiful shades of green, her mom would freak and most likely call her before she was off the shared porch. And if she did happen to make it to sidewalk passersby would ask what company she was advertising for. Like she was holding a fucking sign they’d just somehow missed. 

Here things couldn’t be more different. The first time someone sees Clare she might get a side-eye, the same way Wolfboy might, but after that first time no one cares. In Bordertown everyone’s working so hard to be the most shocking that wearing the same outfit a second time is practically housewife dress with pearls it’s so boring. The fact that the repeated outfit is a multi-toned turtle costume doesn’t change the disinterest. 

Ivy House is nearly empty when Clare gets back. It’s a strange sight. At any given time there are half a dozen girls in beautiful DIY fursuits in the living room, sprawled over the old mattresses they use for furniture. Now there are three. Her SkyNEarth, and Star Raven. “Where is everyone?”

Star Raven answers immediately. “They all quit.”

“What the crap? Why?” From Clare’s perspective she’s been a pretty cool house leader. Pretty much the only qualifier for rooming in Ivy House and joining the Furs is having an interest in fursuits.

“The fact that we’re supposed to be a gang, but we don’t have any rivals, or anything to do?"

“And a lot of girls didn’t like the outfits,” Sky adds.

It’s like being online again. Not the makeshift BINGO Shannon and his minions have set up, built with mirrors and counting beads, but World internet, with all its hateful forums. “But you don’t care?” She needs to hear confirmation more than anything. She came to the Border to be who she was, to find someone that loved her for who she was. She somehow lucked out and got two. Or she thought she did. Maybe not, not if Sky and Emmy don’t give her confirmation. 

Sky shakes her head. The movement makes her short braids ripple. Clare’s always loved the way they look like quills, sticking out a few inches from her scalp. “Mine is soft. Comfortable.”

“I like it.” Emmy agrees.

“But everyone else? I only have three left?”

Star Raven shakes her head. Not the head on her neck, the sculpted head that’s usually tucked under her arm. It’s clear display of snark. She’s making a point, like she always has to. Sometimes Clare wonders if she was as jagged before Just Ron burned down Castle Pup when she was a teenager, or if she was as bad then. “I’m not staying. I just wanted to stick around long enough to tell you you suck. The uniform isn’t bad, no hotter than Pack leather in the summer. But I left the Pack when I found out all three of my best friends were cheating on their fiances. I am so fucking sick of cheaters. I can’t do it again. You need to pick, Clare. This isn’t just not fair. It’s cruel.”

Clare’s dumbfounded. She can’t even muster up words before Star Raven walks out, still wearing her cat suit. Out of all the possible reasons, Clare would never have guessed that one. It doesn’t even make _sense_.

Emmy’s looking at her. Clare can tell, even though the tint of the painted goggles that aid her raccoon look. “You cheating on us with someone?”

Fucking hell, she needs to nip this in the bud before things start getting crazy. “Hell no! Sky-n-Earth forever.”

“My name is Emmy, darling.”

“I stand by my nickname. Every good girlfriend needs a good nickname.” She gets more serious. “I really didn’t think it was that bad.”

“I guess everyone wanted to be in a real gang.”

“Lisa started it, saying we didn’t have gang colours. Like this-” Emmy gestures to her suit “isn’t a good enough indicator. But fuck real gangs. We just want you. Our fur girl.”

“I thought for once in my life I’d found a group.”

“You have a group. It’s just a little smaller than you thought.” Clare doesn’t have time to bicker the point, the moment after Emmy says it she’s stalling Clare’s lips with a kiss.

“Com’ere, Yertle.” Sky pats the bed beside her hip. “I’ll rub your belly.”

Cuddling in with them both, Clare has to admit groups of three are just as nice as big groups. Nicer, maybe. More than three wouldn’t fit on a single bed.


End file.
